WARHAUS

Warhaus

Warhaus – Karaoke Moon

Exactly two years after Ha Ha Heartbreak, Warhaus, the solo project of Maarten Devoldere, returns with a new album: Karaoke Moon. Is it fast? No idea. But those who remember the heart-wrenching atmospheres of the previous album will be surprised by the opener of Karaoke Moon, the first single ‘Where The Names Are Real’.

It begins modestly. To the rhythm of a foreboding acoustic guitar, backed by haunting backing vocals, it sounds as if Maarten Devoldere is unsure whether to say it or not. But less than a minute later, he can’t hold back anymore: “Babe, I’m in love with you!” And he gets away with it too, in that sovereign manner typical of a true crooner. Then the drums start to swing, the typical percussive Warhaus bass kicks in, and the listener is carried away by Devoldere’s sultry parlando as he sings about his love. It’s a voice that, more than ever, dominates this album and would keep us glued to the speakers even if he were reading a phonebook. Luckily, that’s not what he’s doing.
Instead, we hear: “I promise you no dirty tricks.” For a moment, you wonder: can this man be trusted? But you have no choice but to believe him. Strings join in, a catchy eighties organ burrows itself into your brain, and the backing choirs soar higher and higher. And so, the glowing and masterfully constructed ‘Where The Names Are Real’ leaves the listener hungry for the rest of Karaoke Moon. Rightfully so.

Devoldere had more than 50 songs on the shelf after two years of disciplined monk-like work. And what did the producer say after he submitted those demos? Meh. You can do better, Maarten. Deeper, more surprising, more inquisitive. Ten years ago, he wouldn’t have accepted that. But with time, Devoldere has learned that it pays off to trust the right people. And by the right people, he means Jasper Maekelberg. These musical soulmates spent nine months together in a close-knit collaboration in an attic studio in Bruges. The result is the most exciting Warhaus album to date.
Take the instrumental surprise ‘Jacky N’, for example. A simple piano motif lifted to wonderous heights by classical pianist Julien Libeer, supported by a humming male choir and dreamy violins—it’s just waiting for a matching feature film. In ‘What Goes Up’, you think you’re dealing with a toxic dandy, whispering conspiratorially into his prey’s ear. A sultry guitar strolls by, hands in pockets, on a bed of electronics.

A group of strings peeks around the corner. But along the way the listener begs the question: are we listening to a confident macho or an impotent lover? “Down down, up, up,” Sylvie Kreusch sings along teasingly. It’s not the only track on Karaoke Moon where Warhaus plays with our modern views on masculinity. With subtle humor, Devoldere smoothly sidesteps discomfort, poking fun at himself and his kind with double-edged wit.
“I’m serving as your poet / among the other frauds,” he sings in ‘I Want More’. And later, in the slightly epic ‘Jim Morisson’, he scrutinizes the (typical?) male resistance to growing up (Peter Pan syndrome, anyone?) with sardonic pleasure. “It takes a man to love you, baby!” he sings with a soulful male choir. But who is he talking about? Us? Himself?

This way, Karaoke Moon connects passion and playfulness with a mysterious intensity. In ‘Zero One Code’, the German novelist Herman Hesse makes an appearance, accompanied by wailing horns and a resounding bell that recalls ‘Red Right Hand’ by Nick Cave. In ‘Hands of a Clock’, Devoldere conjures poetic imagery until he joins the choir in the richly orchestrated finale, where it gloriously merges with a piano melody. “I’m a child of the day and a child of the night / but they broke up and fought over me,” he muses. “So the stars and the moon are the part only you get to see.”
Yes, quite often it seems like Devoldere is shadowboxing with his own thoughts, juggling the concoctions of his subconscious. But dark soul-searching is not all of it. Evidence of this is the stunner ‘No Surprise’, initially a pumping disco track in the demo version, but transformed by producer Jasper Maekelberg into a sultry nightclub tune where attentive listeners will spot the hip-swaying shadow of Sade, complete with playful organ-driven singalong choruses, once again featuring Sylvie Kreusch in a leading role, singing seemingly innocently: “O, no surprise you took my keys.” Only a cold fish could sit through ‘No Surprise’ without nonchalantly snapping their fingers to it.

In any case, the singalong factor is high. Maybe not in Devoldere’s parlando, which sometimes borders on rap, but in the catchy melodies those rants are interspersed with—a dynamic you often hear in hip-hop but rarely as swinging as here, supported by falsetto choirs; that can be as expansive as staccato, as sexy, or provocative. It’s these clever—and often humorous—contrasts that turn Karaoke Moon into an album that grows with each listen, seducing the listener to delve deeper, layer after layer, line by line, into Warhaus’ unique universe. And yes, it’s an extraordinarily interesting place to be.